


The Polar Express

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 04:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Sirius isn't a fan of going home for the holidays.





	The Polar Express

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

_Year One_

The train was dripping with ornamented greenery. Festive red and green bows were wrapped around each compartment door, unraveling themselves whenever students reached for the handle. The trolley cart had already come around, laden with awe inspiring amounts of peppermint, chocolate, and boiled custard. 

Sirius hadn’t been this depressed since school started.

“It can’t be that bad,” James said. 

Sirius shot him a sour look.

It could absolutely be that bad.

 

(On Christmas Day, Kreacher provided a feast that put everything Hogwarts had even dreamed of to shame. There were more glittering gifts under the tree than he could count at a glance, and an appropriate proportion of them were for him. They were useful and expensive and beautiful, and every single one of them was silver or green.)

 

Remus looked him over carefully when they got on the train to go back, and he knew Remus’s eyes locked on his black eye and that Remus didn’t buy his explanation of a fight with his brother the way James and Peter did.

Sirius didn’t know how to convince him of the truth: The bruise was from his brother, his brother who didn’t understand, and the bruise hurt far less than that distance so lately grown between them. It definitely hurt less than the quietly vicious things his mother had said or the disappointment in his father’s eyes.

His mother hadn’t yelled. He wished she had yelled. If she had yelled, he could have yelled back instead of just sitting there simmering with all the things he wanted to tell her.

 

_Year Two_

The train was white this year, laden with enchanted snow and dripping with fanciful frost and icicles. 

The train was still perfectly warm but it looked about half as cold as Sirius felt watching his brother disappear down the corridor with his perfect Slytherin friends.

James dragged him into the compartment and dumped a small mountain of chocolate in his lap. “His loss,” James said.

Sirius dragged his eyes away from the compartment door and forced a smile. “Right,” he echoed. “His loss.”

 

(His parents were effusively glad to see Regulus. They welcomed Sirius home politely and asked if he was still hanging around that Potter boy. Apparently Remus and Peter weren’t worthy of a mention.

It wasn’t until his cousins came over that the full importance of Regulus’s sorting hit him.

“At least you have one son who isn’t a blood traitor,” his aunt sighed. “We had wondered.”

His mother’s lips had tightened into a thin white line. “He’ll come around,” she said. She did not deny that Sirius was, at the moment, a blood traitor. 

_Blood traitor,_ he whispered to himself in bed that night. _Traitor._ Gryffindor had no room for traitors.)

 

Sirius was the first into the compartment on the ride back. James was the second, and Sirius was glad. James was the only one who might understand.

“How was Christmas?” James asked. He was already munching on a bag of sweets his parents must have given him.

“Fantastic,” Sirius said brightly. “Mum called me a blood traitor.” It was more or less true.

James considered this. “Lucius called me that once.”

Sirius instantly felt better. If James was in the same boat as him, it couldn’t be that bad.

“Besides,” James continued, “I don’t know that traitor’s the right word for it. We’re more like rebels, the way I see it.”

“Rebels,” Sirius mulled over the word. “I like that.”

Remus showed up next, and Sirius didn’t miss the way his friend scanned him for bruises.

Fortunately, all his battles had been verbal this year and, frankly, Remus had no room to talk.

“What happened?” James blurted out. 

Remus shifted nervously. “I . . . fell.”

“Right,” Sirius said flatly. “I always get scratches like that when I fall.”

“Oh, look, there’s Peter,” Remus said, pointing out the window.

James and Sirius gave each other significant looks before they turned.

 

_Year Three_

The train looked practically edible, done up with gingerbread and piped with something that probably wasn’t genuine icing. The candy dotting the walls was definitely real, though. Sirius could confirm this as a fact.

Peter finished his recitation of his family’s travel plans. “What are you doing for Christmas, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged. “Oh, same old, same old. Food. Presents. Do my best to give my mother an aneurysm.”

Peter and James laughed. Remus didn’t, and even though James did, he still looked at Sirius with worried eyes.

 

(Sirius was convinced that there was nothing that could happen this Christmas that hadn’t happened every Christmas before. As far as his family went, he was right.

Kreacher, however, seemed to decide that he’d enough of Sirius’s disrespect for his mistress. Sirius thought the only thing he ate the entire time that wasn’t only just this side of edible was the box of chocolate frogs James sent him.

He choked down as much of the food as he could bear to and comforted himself grimly with the fact that he’d walked in on Kreacher banging his head against the kitchen wall more times than ever before.)

 

He kind of wished the train was still done up in gingerbread when he got back on. Instead, he was left bouncing on the seat, waiting impatiently for the snack trolley.

“You look . . . hungry,” Remus said. His eyes were locked on Sirius’s wrists which were possibly a bit thinner than they had been.

Sirius refused to tug his sleeves down. It was too late now anyway.

“Want one of my sandwiches?” Peter asked. “Mum sent fish again.”

Sirius snatched up one of the offerings. “You’re a lifesaver, Pete.”

And Remus could stop looking at him like that. He was _fine._

 

_Year Four_

It wasn’t that Sirius objected to peppermint. It was just that no sane person could possibly want to be surrounded by this much peppermint.

“I feel like I’m inside a candy cane,” he grumbled as he stowed his trunk.

“I don’t know, I kind of like it,” James said, turning around to get the full view.

Sirius thunked his head against the window.

 

(He was prepared this time. He had a trunk full of nonperishables from Hogsmeade and very helpful house elves at Hogwarts. Thanks to one of those house elves, he also had some lessons in rudimentary cooking under his belt. It had taken some sweet talking to convince her that his desire to learn wasn’t a slight against their cooking in the least, but it would be worth it. No matter what Kreacher pulled, he wouldn’t starve this Christmas.

It worked better than he expected, and had the side effect of ticking off Kreacher.

Right up until Mum caught his at it, and. Well.

He had wanted her to stop dancing around the issue and just yell at him.  
He yelled back.

He spent most of his break confined to his room.)

 

The others were already there when he stalked onto the train.

“If I have to spend one more Christmas at home, I’m going to commit homicide,” he declared before throwing himself into his seat. “I don’t care how long they throw me in in jail for it, Christmas in Azkaban has got to be better than it is there.”

The other three Marauders winced in sympathy.

“You should come home with me next Christmas,” James said, and - yeah.

That sounded pretty good.

 

_Year Five_

There was greenery everywhere. This included mistletoe, and more than one girl had lingered under it, batting her eyes at him.

Sirius couldn’t have cared less. He took one of them up on it just so that he could have a place to sit.

After what had happened a week before at the Whomping Willow, he knew better than to try to sit with his friends.

Obviously, there was no question of going home with James.

 

(Christmas was miserable. It was always miserable. This was just the first time that its misery ran more or less even with what it had been like at school. He spent it composing first explanations than apologies and sending them off to Remus one by one.

After the first two, they weren’t returned unopened, but they were never answered either.

Blacks never begged.

Sirius was getting close.)

 

Sirius didn’t know if the others were on the train yet or not. It didn’t matter. He sat slumped next to the frost coated window and stared out at the blurry gray world beyond.

It was two minutes to departure when the door banged open.

“Oh, good,” James said. “You saved us a compartment. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to find one.” He slid in next to Sirius and dug into his bag. “Chocolate frog?”

Sirius accreted it hesitantly. 

Peter was dragging his trunk into the compartment. Behind him was Remus, bearing a slightly cautious smile.

“Moony?” Sirius croaked.

“Never again,” he said.

“Never,” Sirius vowed.

Remus’s shoulders relaxed. “So how was your Christmas?”

For the first time in weeks, Sirius grinned. “I was the life of the party,” he said. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Remus agreed solemnly. “You always are.”

 

_Year Six_

The train glowed gold, and Sirius, for once, felt only cheer at the sight of it.

For the first time, Sirius was actually . . . cautiously excited about Christmas break.

Mainly because he wouldn’t be going home for it, mind, but still.

 

(He’d shown up at James’s house in the middle of the summer with a hex still healing on his face. He’d never thought his dad would actually do it.

He’d thrown rocks at James’s window until he had appeared.

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Sirius had said. “But can I . . . ?”

The answer, it had turned out, was yes.

 

Christmas with the Potters was exactly as amazing as an envious Sirius had always imagined it to be. Possibly more so. 

He was actually sorry to head back to Hogwarts. That had never happened to him before.)

 

_Year Seven_

The theme this year was Santa’s workshop. It was just as well it wasn’t mistletoe again because their compartment had a new member, and frankly, Sirius had walked in on James and Lily snogging enough for a lifetime. 

Thinking about that was still better than thinking about Reggie and his Death Eater Junior buddies walking past Sirius like he didn’t exist or wondering what had Remus reading the Prophet so grimly.

 

(The attack was aimed at the Potters, probably, though it was technically possible someone was out to prune the Black family tree. Regardless of who it was aimed at, the group had come confident in the knowledge that the house was empty of all but an elderly couple and a pair of teenagers.

The red and green spells were almost festive, Sirius thought a bit hysterically, and then it was over and they had won because no one had stopped to think through those two teenage boys being James and Sirius.

They helped James’s parents layer the house in every protective spell they could think of before they left, and Sirius could still see James’s reluctance to go.)

 

James stared out the window at his parents like he was memorizing them. Just in case.

Sirius could just make out his own parents at the other end of the platform, but he ignored them. Of the two groups, it was the Potters he much preferred to lock in his minds.

“They’ll be alright,” Sirius said. It was a novel feeling to be the one doing the comforting after Christmas, but he didn’t think now was the time to bring it up.

“Yeah,” James said. He didn’t sound convinced. He slumped back into his seat, eyes still staring out the window. “Someone came after Lily over break,” he said abruptly. “She just sent me a letter to tell me this morning. She didn’t want me to worry.”

“Is she - “ Obviously she wasn’t dead if she had written, but there was a big gap between “not dead” and “fine.”

“She says she’s fine,” he said. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Like anything about this is fine.” He fingered his wand. “You’ve heard the rumors about the Order, haven’t you?”

“Everyone’s heard the rumors,” Sirius said. “Why? You thinking . . . ?”

“I want to join,” James said firmly. “The second I graduate, I want to join.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Well, if you’re in, I’m in, you know that.”

For the first time since the attack, James let out a proper grin, not just the strained thing he pasted on to placate his parents. “I knew you would say that. Thanks, Padfoot.”

“‘Course,” he said carelessly. “Someone’s got to watch your back.”

Remus would be easy to talk into it too, he figured, and once the three of them agreed on something, Peter was sure to follow. The Marauders would charge on, even after graduation, and something in Sirius settled into place now that he knew it.

Next Christmas’s theme might be Stunning Spells and Killing Curses, but it still wouldn’t be the worst Christmas he’d ever had, and at least they’d be together. Sirius thought they could handle just about anything as long as they had that.


End file.
